Hot
by two-headed fiesta
Summary: Hot like the Besaid sands, like the Bikanel sun, like the sweat off your back, like the thunder of a fiend, and like a kiss from your favorite girl. Gx? tba renamed


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**Why am I Here Again?**

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A/N: ah, new story jitters! (: i hope you all enjoy and whatnot, obviously i've had up a few stories before on another account, but they weren't reviewed too well. i've grown quite a bit as a writer and i'm confident that this time will be differently betterificalness... if anyone is still out there prowling the ffx2 board. well, let's boogie, shall we? 

disclaimer: i own nothing. suing me would only lose you money, seeing as i am broke as a fucking joke. i just bought a car, y'all

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Spend a week laying awake in a giant, mechanical bird not even a week after you took part in saving the world for the first time in company of Spira-saving veterans, when one of your only remaining best friends is under the impression he's a centuries-dead warrior sacrificing the world for his songstress sweetheart while the appearance of this ghostly young man resembles the true-life love of Spira's one and only Yuna, the savior of anything holy, then only to find that the last remaining links to your past will resurface as two women once loved and lost, and then, and only then, consider your life again. Reevaluating the big picture that life is overly simplified into : one of Gippal's many talents as a twice reformer, bitterly resenting the on striding third that presented itself with a little bow last night at Yuna and Tidus' wedding. 

God - did he fucking_ despise_ weddings. The glitz and excessively tasteful nature of them. Bleck. No thanks, former Yevonites. Beside the religious affiliated aspect, they were pointlessly grand and unnecessary displays of "undying" love to someone you can't really guarantee that to, but you do legally for Spira knows why. The logic of this was lost on the male. Why do you need a show to prove to everyone and the government that you loved your significant other enough at one point to bind yourself to them at one point in time and may possibly feel the same way in twenty or thirty years, but if you don't - hell, divorce is awfully popular for _some crazy reason_.

In all seriousness though, what kind of ridiculous bullshit is that? Gippal wouldn't wed even if that meant spending a life alone. And proof was all around daily to verify that Gippal would_ certainly_ never be lonely. He smiled softly, eyes sealed shut. One more thing on weddings - why the fuck did Tidus consider the idea of an open bar favorable again?

You don't sit free alcohol in front of an Al Bhed and expect them to behave. Its like eating a heaping plate of tasty treats in front of a starving child. It just isn't done.

A sigh escaped sore lips and rough fingertips met tanned hide as Gippal attempted to assuage the hemorrhaging headache he sported Sunday morning on the quaint little island of Besaid, post-apocalyptic wedding party to end them all. If only the aches could be fully attributed to liquor. Then the world would be perfect and the blond faction leader would've woken up in any other bed but this. Pausing, lips parting as a shot of searing heat took a nice, long shit in his brain, Gippal roused the memory of the night prior to the newly-found toilet/brain. Unfortunately, thought process went MIA shortly after a completely distasteful rendition of the Dirty Moogle - yet another aspect of marriage he disliked with passion previously unseen before from any mildly rational human being: obligatory drunken dancing and shout-mumbling lyrics to a song you barely know but from a dreamy day spent on a beach in your childhood.

The blond monster stretched from his reclined position on the cottony, ransacked Besaid cot belonging to Wakka and Lulu. Not inches away the happily married duo quietly prepared freshly picked coffee (the beans, not the actual pot brewing, of course) and nursed their little boy, careful not to wake the engineer. The effort was touching, however feckless; Gippal could understand why he heard nothing but good about the couple from everyone who had a comment to spare.

His toes curled, initiating a quick crick throughout the digits, an instant indication of guilt. (The man hated his tells, in addition to weddings and hangovers.) How horrible would it be, he wondered mentally to air, just to sneak off while the remaining wedding party remained preoccupied with the preparation of the mass brunch and hours upon hours of cleanup after the bash? Gippal laughed softly to himself._That would go over_ real _well. Bring on the crucification!_ The Al Bhed blinked, emerald swirl of his solitary eye melancholy as he glanced at the homey surroundings so strange from what he considered home. Books of real world applications, ranging from cooking for idiots to childcare, lined the beach-wood shelf cases; a woven bench sagged under the weight of his dull red duffel bag for the weekend; the cot littered with thin linens soiled by tanned limbs. Even the dirt floors screamed cozy. He stretched his legs, knowing this life was not for him. Yet another life choice he could cross off the list that shrank a little each day.

The lilac collared shirt he wore the night before shook in the ocean breeze stealing through the hut's thin walls. It was crumpled in every which way, streaks crossing all over, creating what Gippal imagined to be the picture perfect example of beach boy chic. He dared to laugh in the face of so much potential hell. To top off his chic look were the tighty-whiteys he sported to lift and protect from any knee digs by drunken ladies in what they would later call a dance. Ten times out of ten it resembled a desperate flail, but the man felt no need to share this at any time. The undies had scooted up his butt crack on one cheek, while the other's elastic waistband managed to slip and slide throughout the night to a twirled position on his hip. This error was (as if his level of undress suddenly bothered him and the air around him) shortly corrected as the man rose from his temporary bed, the cot creaking softly from years of mild use. He slipped deft hands onto his crinkled shirt to button level just below his naval, and a quick rummage through his bag found him easing into a pair of black shorts.

He threw the other in the room a dirty, playful glance out of habit to be reminded that the slumbering party was still just that and a sigh erupted. So much for the ice-breaking banter about staring at his ass...

_Dead man walking_.

Frowning slightly, the Al Bhed shuffled over to his bag and once again ransacked it for his studded leather eye patch, hiding the scar for a day of strangers, and ruffled his hair once or twice obsessively to create that I-Just-Woke-Up-And-Really,-My-Sex-Hair-Happens-Every-Day-For-Obvious-Reasons-And-Yes,-You-Should-Be-Blushing-Right-Now effect perfected through years of practice. Yet today, he felt the overwhelmingly toxic urge to vomit and gouge out the remaining healthy eye. Because, really, mutilation solved **everything**.

Another chuckle to no one in particular. His stomach took a nasty lurch as he dared to laugh. Weddings were so complicated... Its, like, obligatory to have your pick of the litter for the bridesmaids, but the shame that lingered for the girl... Even Gippal wouldn't wish the disapproving looks that would follow the poor sleeping creature for weeks to come. His libido and the alcohol led him to the act, but Gippal would always have a heart for the girls. He wasn't going to purposefully ruin any lives this young. He couldn't help but to wonder to the woven bench and his bag... Would she marry after this? Would her family disown her? Would the community excommunicate her and she'd have to come work for him in Djose to secure a bed to sleep in and food to stuff herself with? Or Spira - even worse - would she become pregnant (not a likely situation, as several used condoms littered the sheets) and Gippal would obligatorily marry her as not to _completely_ shame the poor thing? Oh fuck no, he prayed. That wouldn't fly. Sure, times were changing, but here in Besaid, they seemed oblivious to the world's outside forwardness.

In any other town on Spira, his one-night-stand would be accepted. The man frowned. Sex was supposed to be a semi-simple act. _Natural_. Stupid Besaidians and their morals and shit!

Gip zipped up his bag once the last sock fell into its depths, the once sturdy structure falling like an ego. The irony was way too much for him not to share with the world. Amused by karma and its wacky way of striking when least welcome, he released a half-gag, half-hearty laugh. The look was decidedly that of a smirk. Movement ceased beyond the curtains entirely. A murmur ignited betwixt the two figures before a bright orange chocobo-hawk appeared with a Wakka attached.

He, too, smiled, but in a teasing manner. The Blitz star was really enjoying the misery-mixed-with-humor situation the Machine Faction leader found himself in that day. That bastard! That awesome bastard! "You alright, Brudha?" The Besaid native openly struggled in his efforts not to adamantly stare at the peacefully sleeping other, laugh, and then congratulate Gippal in that exact order. So the blond did it for him. Pleasantly surprised, the man found his lady of the night to still be irresistibly fuckable.

Especially now that he had an audience. "Yeah." _Beat_. Lulu spared not a second to appear moodily behind her husband like the wall between the two momentary house mates since they'd met. Gippal insisted to any one of their mutual friends that she practiced long-distance (and lately, just-a-bed-over-distance) thunder on his head on those days that he would wake up and feel the weight of the last twenty years of his life all at once. The ones where you honestly just want to die but then don't and the rest of your life is amazing. ... speaking of which, he should really thank her for that --

"We won't tell anyone lies for you." Lulu said before anyone else could utter another thought. So much for gratification.

Gippal smiled, digging a hand in his pocket as he inched past the couple into the main room of the small home, it too screaming quaint and simple. A part of him died internally. And melodramatically. "I wouldn't ask you to, Lu." He shot a wave at the pair before smiling off into the sunny day stirring beyond the wooden walls. That tail between a puppy's legs feeling tingled in Gip's toes as he stepped into the blinding sun, and he paused only to hear Lulu lay a heavy backhand on her play toy husband. Normally a silent smirk would suffice, but the most his mouth muscles could muster was a half-grimace that went instantly noticed by two bystanders picking up a pile of streamers beside Wakka's hut and Nooj, who barreled (as quickly as a man of his capability could) across the dirt walkway in such an official manner it made Gippal's internal organs bleed in preparation for dulling pain of a half-assed lecture from someone needing his own advice while he dishes it out. Regardless, an amicable grin surfaced. "Nooj."

"You're damn lucky you have Lai and I to cover your stupid ass. Cid's been looking for you all morning to discuss the terms of your agreement. We told him you went out to the beach for a swim at eleven. He and Brother ran off an hour ago to find you." Nooj hobbled his last steps as his finished his sentence, and yet throughout the spiel, the only person who could decipher anything audible was Gippal. Call it another talent.

The blond shrugged. "I told him we'd talk over dinner tonight before he and Brother left."

"You mean you told him last night when you were both hammered?"

_Damn_. "And?" Nooj was obviously displeased with such a short answer. He did that infamous stare that no one could help but to fidget under. Gippal rose an inch in height as a stir of air ensnared Goldilocks' perfected 'do. A hand met with them to re-structure them. "Look, I'll see him at lunch. It isn't going to be some formal ceremony either, Nooj. Just the two of us agreeing legally before presenting it across Spira next month. I think it can wait until we have some shrimp and rice and a nice cup of coffee." He paused, glancing around. "What has Spira done to you, Nooj? You used to be on my side, rolling your eyes with the peanut gallery. What the hell happened to Nooj The Undying?"

"He grew up." The other offered lamely, though with the ex-Crimson Squad member reciting such cliché lines, it worked. Go figure. "You should try it." The brunet turned to hobble back into the temple. "We'll be finished by one. I'll tell Cid you'll be here."

"Yeah!" Gippal responded, nodding to the other's machina arm and long hair as if they would physically receive the signals of agreement all on their own. A girl with a baby wrapped in fabric on her back crossed by the man, hurriedly carrying a pail of water. He began to follow her, then turned to walk toward the rise of the undeveloped housing grounds, spotting a tree trunk under a slice of shade with his name on it. A young boy in bright island orange ran screaming from the niche, nearly colliding with Gippal before the older male could stop him and lift him into the air to more shouts of delight. "Hey, kid!" He tossed the boy into the air before catching him and setting him down with mock roughness. The child squealed with delight, and the amused chuckles of a few people behind the playing pair tickled a grin onto Gippal's face. "You seen a blond girl with eyes like mine around here? Or her brother with the hair like a chocobo? Maybe a girl with really red eyes and silvery hair? She looks moody, the last one."

The boy squealed as he fell back to the ground, purposefully making the impact into a huge ordeal. "You mean Rikku and Brother, mister? I saw Mister Cid and Brother arguing in a funny language a bit a go, but I haven't seen Miss Rikku since she and Miss Paine-" at this Gippal let a bout of laughter slide "-went to bed last night. I stayed up and watched the whooole party after mommy made me go to bed. You have a funny singing voice, mister!" He ran off, giggling at his own nerve as the older boy threw a mock swing at the smart comment. Even a kid heard the Dirty Moogle. Now the faction leader was almost _afraid_ to find out what Cid really wanted. The man wouldn't be so intent without cause, and even then, he doubted Cid would launch a search to find the man if all he wanted to discuss was their conversation last night. Gippal rested a foot on the opposite calf, arms crossing as his eye narrowed in deep thought. Maybe the man saw Gippal leave the bash with the girl of the night and was coming to call off any verbal promises. _Shiiit_. While that** would **lessen his stress load, the notion wasn't a fond one. Cid's proposition was growing on him, even if he couldn't spare a thought to linger on it. Gah! He needed to talk to someone about something stupid to clear his mind! The only remaining options weren't favorable, either... He wouldn't bother Lai - more lectures, woo! - or Yuna and Tidus, as the nights festivities are less than likely to be over for the pair. Sighing, he forced himself to be his own audience, and slid down to his perch on the sturdy tree trunk, gazing out into the crystal waters of Besaid as the midday sun made their magic in the ripples of the tide. A sweet breeze attacked his senses, head clouding with nothing but hot air. Worrying about his night partner and what would be said of the tales around the little island, the arrangement to be solidified over seafood, and the new life ahead were not topics Gippal typically bothered himself with. In fact, the whole frustrated feeling to this degree was almost foreign to him. He tended to let life take its course, steering with headstrong emotion opposed to logical thought.

Unless you were talking about machina. Then that was all whole different Blitz Dome.

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End file.
